


Chasing Stars

by Shelligator



Category: Green Eggs and Ham (Cartoon), Green Eggs and Ham - Dr. Seuss, How the Grinch Stole Christmas! - Dr. Seuss, The Cat in the Hat - Dr. Seuss
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Art Student Michellee, Bad Guy Gluntz, Cat and Grinch are Lecturers, Comedy, Dancing, Eventual kissing, F/F, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Performer Sam, Punk Guy, Romance, Romantic Fluff, Sam wears dresses, Slow Burn, eventual bed sharing, long fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:01:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25569397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shelligator/pseuds/Shelligator
Summary: On the verge of failing the year all over again, Guy Am I is ready to drop out of his Inventing and Engineering course at Meepville University. But  it's when his heart is at its most heavy with the loss of his aspirations that the young punk meets Sam I Am, a rising star who shines as bright as his dreams once did. An excitable and flamboyant performance arts student, Sam is determined to have his name in lights, and in spite of himself Sam's warmth and kindness steadily rubs off on him, chiseling away at the rebellious facade he's thrown up around himself.-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------A college AU, woo! I'm really passionate about this one. Multichapter long fic with romance, slowburn, some minor swearing here and there. Multi ships are implied/touched on but Guy and Sam is the focus.
Relationships: Cat in the Hat & The Grinch, Gluntz/Michellee (Green Eggs and Ham), Guy Am I & Sam I Am (Green Eggs and Ham), Guy Am I/Sam I Am (Green Eggs and Ham)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 34





	Chasing Stars

**Author's Note:**

> So this idea has been in my head FOREVER, I'm super passionate about it. The rating has the potential to go up to M or E depending on what the audience wants to read, but I can also do that kind of smutty content in seperate one shots for this story. Let me know what you guys want! But yes, hope you guys like it <3 Please like/comment/share if you enjoy it! I love the feedback, it means the world to me. :)
> 
> And thank you to my awesome boos for supporting me with my work always, and the fantastic Rick for the name suggestion. I love it! :D
> 
> *As for Guy's course, I'm basing the 'fail' thing on how our universities work here. 3 Failed years and you're out, to make space for other students who CAN pass.

_You can open it! I believe in you! Go, go, go!_

The words echo in his shellshocked mind, loud even over the incessant ringing in his ears. Guy coughs and splutters, smoke filling his lungs and carrying the noxious smell of burnt fur and nitrate. He blinks against the smoke that permeates the air around him, making his eyes water as he attempts to push himself onto his hands and knees. Dishevelled strands of his magenta mohawk flop in front of his face, and he clumsily pushes them aside, wiping soot off his face in the process.

The smog slowly clears, and in spite of himself Guy shrinks beneath the shocked faces of his classmates, a lecture hall full of eyes watching him with a mix of amusement, disdain, and annoyance. The ringing in his ears subsides enough for him to hear their hushed whispers and laughter, mingling with the loud and savage curses of their professor.

The green-furred What pats away at his smoking ruff, bushy brows furrowed and lips twisted into a snarl. Burgundy eyes zero in on Guy, and the Knox bristles, bracing for the onslaught that’s sure to follow.

And he’s not disappointed.

“ **Guy Am I!** ” The Grinch roars, all fire and brimstone as he hurls what remains of Guy’s Can-Opener on the floor with a resounding crash, and Guy flinches against the sound, “My office, **now!** ”

The young punk glares back at him as he climbs to his feet, his mouth twisted to the side unhappily. He moves to adjust the collar of his jacket, popping it up harshly to defend himself from the obnoxious giggles of his peers. Doing so draws his attention to the torn leather on his right shoulder, and he scowls bitterly, turning on his heel to follow their professor to his office.

The room in question is cramped, every available surface covered in inventions and bric-a-brac. The Grinch waves a hand haphazardly to a chair in front of his desk, and Guy flops down into it as the door is slammed shut behind him, well acquainted with this spot. He’s been in it many times, always on the receiving end of his lecturer’s tirades.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Max, an Irish Red Setter, quickly get to his feet and pad over to the Grinch’s side, padding along beside him. No one said it aloud, but everyone’s sure Max is the professor’s therapy dog, never straying too far from him even when he’s at his most loathsome.

The sour-faced What paces back and forth with his companion, his hands clenching and unclenching as he wrestles with his anger. He knocks over some contraption made of coils in the process, and he curses violently, fussing over it and righting it again before he whirls around to face the aspiring inventor, throwing his arms wide.

“Tell me, Mr Am I, what exactly is your other career choice, a plan B if you would, should your inventions not be quite up to snuff again this year?”

Guy blinks hard at the question, and it’s the words themselves that hurt more than the callousness with which they’re leveled at him, “I-”

“No no, wait. Let me hazard a guess,” the older man interrupts quickly with a wave of his hand, and Guy glowers at him, his teeth on edge, “Was it a comedian? Because I hate to break it to you boy, but **this is woefully unfunny**!”

Guy falls into stoney silence, but the Grinch continues regardless, “It’s pathetic, is what it is! I have a lecture hall full of students who want to learn, who want to _succeed_! Peachy keen and bright-eyed inventors, and yet, here you are trying to make a joke of this class! _My class!_ ”

The Knox leans forward in his seat, anger flaring white hot in his breast, but the professor steamrolls him before he can get a word in edgewise, and any retort he may have had for him dies in his throat, sent cold by the words he hears next. 

“But the only joke here is you!”

Red eyes bore into brown, and Guy holds them for as long as he is able before he pulls his gaze away, focusing on a circuit board off to his left. He zeroes in on it as his insides twist and boil with bitter resentment, painful and insidious. Every part of him feels tense, and he absently notes one of his legs has taken up a furious bounce, betraying his frustration.

He just needs this to end.

Professor Grinch stares at him long and hard before taking up his seat in his well-worn leather chair, heaving a long suffering sigh before he runs a hand over his face, “Do you not take this seriously? This is your future, Am I. Your parents pay good money for you to be here! What exactly are we supposed to do with you?”

But Guy’s done talking, teeth gritted almost painfully tight as his eyes trace the patterns the wires make on the circuit board. Red crosses yellow, green entwines with blue. He blinks a couple of times, his vision blurring, but he focuses on the patterns with all the more desperation, lips pressed into a thin line. His heart seems to beat far too loudly in his ears, a war drum threatening to drown out all else.

He wasn’t going to cry. Not here, not now. 

The older What watches him, his brow furrowed deeply, and the longer Guy takes to dignify him with a response the more frustrated and irritable he seems to get, green fingers drumming an impatient rhythm on the wood of his desk. Max whimpers quietly, putting a paw on his foot, and finally he waves his hands flippantly, pushing himself back into his chair, “Bah! What do you care? Just another 0 on your report card. Not that it matters to you, hmm?”

Pinching the bridge of his nose he finally dismisses him with a wave of his hand, and Guy gets to his feet, hands buried deep in the pockets of his jacket. He turns on his heel and leaves without a word, barely registering where he’s going as he steps out into the mercifully empty lecture hall.

_What do you care?_

He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care at all. It’s a desperate mantra in his head, drowning out everything else as he finds his canvas backpack and fastens the leather straps with clumsy urgency, breathing heavily through his nose. He wills himself to feel it, screaming those words over the pounding in his ears and the loudness of his own breathing.

_I don’t care, I don’t care, **I don’t care!**_

But his foot catches on something as he moves to leave, and he looks down to see the charred remains of his little blue can opener, pink pom poms melted and shrivelled in on themselves. His heart lurches, and he swallows thickly against the burning lump that rises in his throat, his vision swimming all over again.

_I believe in you! Go, go, go!_

He bends to scoop up the pieces with shaking hands, gathering them and cradling them in the crook of his arm. Grabbing his backpack and slinging it over his shoulder as he goes, he rushes out into the hall, ignoring the looks he gets from the students as he cleaves his path through them. Anyone who doesn’t move out of his way in time is met with a growl and a hard shoulder, but no one dares argue with him, shying away from the rebellious Knox with the angry eyes and big hair.

Stepping out into the late afternoon sun he takes a moment to gather himself, poised at the top of the steps of the Engineering Hall to look out over the paths lined with trees ahead of him. Meepville University is the largest in this part of the country, and it boasts a sprawling campus to match, with ancient red brick and white-columned buildings spread out over the acres of trees and gardens that make up Meepville’s largest orbiting platform.

The sheer size of the campus makes it incredibly easy to get lost. And that’s just what Guy wants to do. Taking the steps two at a time he leaves the path at the base to cut through the colourful botany gardens, aiming for any one of the wooded groves and grassy knolls that surround the heart of the main campus.

Unfortunately for him, the botany gardens are particularly close to the many halls and theatres that make up the faculty of arts, and Guy isn’t at all surprised to spot a familiar group of Whos and Knoxes lounging in the shade of a large cherry tree in full bloom. A pretty brunette Who looks up from her sketchbook as he passes, one immaculate eyebrow arching, and Guy tries to look anywhere but in her direction, feeling incredibly small beneath her gaze.

“Going somewhere, _Demolitions Guy_?” Michellee calls out with no small amount of scorn, and Guy growls under his breath, hiding his embarrassment behind the scowl he throws back at her. Some of her friends laugh at his expense, but a good few watch him go nervously, talking to one another in hushed whispers. Michellee dismisses their concern with a wave of her hand before bowing her head to pour over her sketches again, pushing some stray locks of her wild hair out of her face.

Guy quickens his pace, hugging his invention a little more tightly to his chest as he hurries to leave the gardens and its people behind him. He spots a rise poking out of the top of a grove of trees, a sycamore perched at its peak, and he steers himself towards it, passing through the trees to make the climb up its banks.

It’s a steep climb, but when he makes it to the top he sits down heavily at its base, sitting on the side facing away from campus to look out over the park and the glittering ocean beyond. The scenery moves slowly as the platform does its rotation of the city, lumbering along heavily, and the sun arcs low towards the horizon, painting the sky pink and orange.

His back resting against the bark, Guy takes the time to clumsily pull open his rucksack and put the blackened parts of his can opener in amongst his tools and text books before closing it with a little more force than necessary. There’s a tremble to his hands, and no matter how hard he tries the shock of it all refuses to leave him comfortably numb.

He’d really needed this to work. He can't afford to fail the first year for the third time, watching his peers move on to the remainder of the course without him. A third failure would be an automatic expulsion, and the term has already gotten off to a piss-poor start.

_What exactly are we supposed to do with you?_

Nothing. They don’t have to do anything. He can’t go through it all again, the heartache of getting his hopes up. He was done caring about dreams that didn’t do anything but go up in flames, enduring his parents unending disappointment masked with a clumsy pretence of pride.

Today would be his last day here. And he’d soon pack his things and hit the road before he’d have to deal with his family’s chagrin. He wasn’t sure where he’d go, or what he’d do, but at least it would be going somewhere, doing something different than the insanity of trying and trying again, expecting a different result.

**The only joke here is you!**

Guy bows under the weight of his emotions, drawing his knees inwards to make himself small against the onslaught of bitter anguish. Hot tears flood his eyes and spill over so quickly he has no time to stop them, leaving wet streaks in his sunset fur. His shoulders shake with hard but silent sobs, and he drapes his arms over his knees before burying his face in them, his hands absently fretting and tugging at his studded magenta ears. 

He’d hoped this new resolution would make him feel lighter, but it only seems to make his heart ache under its own weight, mourning everything he’s lost and still stands to lose. He mourns the passionate and ambitious Knox who’d arrived here fresh from highschool this time last year, ready to showcase the same creative talent and dedication that had made him the valedictorian amongst his peers.

So much for that.

Maybe he could head south and get a job as an apprentice in a tattoo and piercing parlor, though thinking about it he didn’t think he’d trust himself to put anything permanent on someone’s body, knowing his luck. Perhaps he’d just settle for watching paint dry, no way he could possibly -

But that train of thought is cut off abruptly as something large and heavy connects with the top of his head, making him see stars. He sits upright with a yelp of pain, his hands coming up to hold his throbbing head, and he watches wide eyed as a backpack falls open at his feet, articles of clothing and swathes of shimmering fabric flying in every direction.

Guy blinks at it incredulously, his voice bumping up an octave with disbelief, “What in the-”

“Wo-o-oah there!”

There’s the rustle of branches above him, and Guy throws his gaze upwards to only have his vision filled with yellow fur and billowing white petticoats. Guy scrambles out of the way with a low cry of shock, and a small Who lands where he’d been sitting only moments before, garbed in a floppy red hat and a navy blue sailor dress straight out of the 1950s.

“Sorry about that!” The other man says with a chuckle, throwing an apologetic but positively glowing smile in Guy’s direction as he scrambles to start picking up the various fabrics scattered about them, “Would lose my head if it wasn’t attached to my neck, you know?”

But suddenly the sunny little Who gasps, the sound drawn out and dramatic, and Guy instinctively tries to back pedal away, his back pressed against the tree trunk as if he could somehow crawl up it that way, “No way! Look at this, we’re _Backpack Buddies!_ ” Yellow hands wave from his beige canvas backpack to Guy’s identical one and back, dramatically trying to illustrate his point, “How great is that?!”

“What- why are you-” Guy stammers, too shocked to string the words together. He quickly paws at his eyes and nose, embarrassed by his own tears, but it quickly turns to furious indignation at having his privacy invaded so spectacularly, “Who the yip are you?!”

Green eyes look up at him in confusion, and Guy gets the chance to really take in his appearance, with the thick snowy tufts of fur that adorn his cheeks and wry strands of matching hair that stick out under the brim of his hat, “Oh! Of course, where are my manners? Allow me to introduce myself!”

The smaller man clambers to his feet to throw out his arms extravagantly, puffing out his chest as he grins down at him, “I am Sam! Sam I Am! And as fresh as a freshman can get, I just started my performance art course today!”

But Guy’s already only half listening, reaching up to grab a piece of silky green chiffon that’s gotten caught in the spikes of his mohawk. He gives it a look of disdain, lips twisting to one side, but Sam is suddenly there to grab it from him, smiling in thanks. Guy’s hand flinches back, the disgruntled Knox scowling back at him.

“But enough about me! What’s your handle, partner? _Love_ your hair by the way, very bold.”

Guy doesn’t dignify him with an answer that’s anything more than a rumbling growl and an arched brow, pushing himself up a little straighter against the bark of the tree. “What were you doing up there anyway?” he demands angrily, waving his hand up to the branch Sam had jumped down from as the man in question returns to gathering up his clothes. A thought suddenly dawns on him, and Guy narrows his eyes at him, “Were you spying on me?” 

“What? Nah nothing like that, bud! I was just taking in the view!” Sam chirps back happily, folding clothes and tucking them into his rucksack with a lot more care than he’s shown himself capable of in the moments prior, “I wanted to try to see the whole campus, maybe snap a few pics. Now where’s my…”

Sam whirls this way and that to look around himself, and he suddenly snatches up a boxy green polaroid camera triumphantly. He shows it to the other student with far too much enthusiasm, as if to corroborate his story, but Guy is quick to wave a hand flippantly, rolling his eyes skyward.

“Oh _sure_ , as one does on their first day on campus,” Guy drawls, his voice dripping with sarcasm, before he barks angrily at the smaller man, his patience worn incredibly thin, “Now would you _please **leave me alone!**_ ”

Sam blinks at him, his face falling, and Guy thinks he’s effectively scared the other man off. But Sam points a tentative finger at his shoulder, one eyebrow arching with a gentle look of concern.

“Hey, what happened to your jacket?”

Guy blinks, quickly looking down at his jacket to eye the large gash there, the sleeve coming away from the shoulder. Just like that the Knox deflates, folding his arms across his midriff as he looks anywhere but at the other man, as if afraid he’d see the maelstrom of today’s emotions painted on his face, “It’s nothing.”

It’s not nothing. He can’t help but feel despondent, his anger abandoning him in the wake of his sadness. It’s his favorite jacket, but he’s not going to tell Sam that. He doesn’t need his pity.

But Sam keeps staring at him, and Guy can’t shake the feeling that those green eyes can see right through him. He sees Sam’s gaze sweep over him out of the corner of his eye, and the Knox’s frown only deepens in response, his lip curling at the corner to show off his canines in warning.

And then Sam’s gasping all over again, his face lighting up. He makes a show of throwing his backpack open wide, and Guy looks over at him sharply as the freshman starts digging around in it, a sunny smile on his lips, “Wait a minute! I have just the thing for that!”

It takes a moment, but when Sam pulls his hand free he’s holding two safety pins, his eyes bright, “This will do the trick! It’s a temporary fix, sure, but it will have to do for now! I don’t have my sewing kit on me today.”

Guy blinks incredulously, slack-jawed and at a loss of what to say, “I… you don’t have to-”

“Nuh uh, bud! It’s the least I can do for braining you like I did,” the Who smiles warmly at him, and he scoots over to join him, lifting the hem of his dress with his free hand to keep it from getting caught beneath his knees, “Now let’s see…”

Guy shys back as the other man gets uncomfortably close into his space, a growl rising in his throat, but Sam shushes him, getting even closer to him to examine the tear in the leather. The Who tucks one of the safety pins between his lips to hold it in place as he works, pinching the edges of fabric to overlap them and pin them together before he does the same with the second one, effectively closing the gash.

“Tada! See? Good as new- sorta!” Sam rests his hands on his hips with an air of self satisfaction. Guy stares back at him with pupils the size of dinner plates, hyper aware of how close the other man’s face is to his own. Green eyes meet brown, and Sam’s grin softens into the warmest, most genuine smile he’s received from anyone in as long as he can remember.

“Thanks…” Guy breathes with quiet awe, not at all sure what to do with himself, and Sam’s eyes practically gleam, a titter falling from his lips.

“No problem. And hey, that’s what best friends are for!” The young who exclaims with growing enthusiasm, and the warmth that had thawed Guy’s aching heart quickly ebbs, the aspiring-dropout tilting his head back to look down his nose at him with a palpable air of annoyance.

“I literally just met you.”

“I’m not one to split hairs.” Sam shoots back playfully, spreading his arms with a jaunty shrug of his shoulders and a mischievous smirk. Guy narrows his eyes at him before pushing himself up onto his feet, and Sam’s proximity to him makes the Who fall back on his rump with a quiet yelp, unable to maintain his balance.

As Guy stoops to gather his backpack his pocket starts vibrating, and he heaves a heavy sigh, turning away from Sam to pull his cellphone out his pocket. It’s his mother, probably calling to ask how his presentation went. Why she’d even need to ask, Guy doesn’t know. He watches the phone ring with a brooding look as Sam gathers up his things behind him, and when it eventually stops he pockets it again with a quietly petulant grumble under his breath.

If Sam notices he doesn’t say anything. He does however bound over to smile up at him with far too much wide-eyed excitement, and with a glare down at him Guy is reminded how small the other man is. With them both on their feet Sam is barely eye level with his chest, forced to tilt his head back to try to catch Guy’s eye with his own from beneath the brim of his bouncy red hat. Though their backpacks are identical, Sam's seems far too big for him as he slings it over his shoulder, colourful pieces of fabric poking out of the top of it. It’s adorned in multiple badges to boot, little hearts and green eggs, and a proud rainbow flag on the left shoulder strap.

“Say pal, you wouldn’t mind showing me around would you? This place is huge! It’ll be so much fun, maybe we can snap a few groufies together- hey!”

But Guy’s already walking, making his descent down the rise without another word. Sam almost trips over himself in his rush to follow him, and Guy resists the almost overpowering urge to quicken his pace in response, gritting his teeth tightly.

“So is that a yes?” Sam presses, circling around the purple-haired punk in a pointed effort to steal his attention, “Or a very strong maybe?”

“It’s an ‘ _absolutely out of the question_ ’.” Guy snaps, adjusting his backpack on his shoulder, but Sam’s suddenly in front of him, doing his best to walk backwards down the slope without tumbling back onto his ass.

“Pfft! Come on, Study Bud, it’ll be great!”

“No!”

“Okay, I admit,” Sam attempts again as the ground levels out beneath them, and he moves between the trees with playful twirls that send his navy skirt and petticoats swirling around his slender legs, “It’s getting kind of late. How about some firm plans to meet up and show me around tomorrow then?”

Guy drags a hand over his face, a snarl bubbling up in his throat. What part of ‘no’ didn’t this Who understand? Besides, he has no intention of coming back tomorrow, or the day after that. He’s done with this place, and he isn’t going to take one last look around to commemorate his failed hopes and dreams for Sam’s benefit. He can find some other schmuck with more patience than him to give him a grand tour.

The man in question goes blissfully silent as they come out into the gardens, taking two steps for every one of Guy’s to keep pace with him. The Knox almost attempts to take the long way around the Botany gardens to avoid Michellee and her group, reluctant to endure a second helping of her scorn. But from here he can see the shade beneath the cherry tree is vacant, and his eyes light up as an idea strikes him.

When they get closer to the Arts block Guy waves a hand towards the opulent theater hall and its surrounding buildings, giving Sam a pointed look, “See that there? That’s where you’ll want to be for classes, and if I’m wrong, someone there can tell you where to go anyway. And that’s just about all you need to know. Now if you don’t mind, I’ve just about had enough of-”

“Why, if it isn’t Sam! Sam I Am!”

That sing-song voice comes from directly behind him, and Guy practically jumps out of his fur, howling in alarm as he springs away from the source of the sound. Both he and Sam are confronted by the smiling face of a black and white cat, his Cheshire grin reaching golden eyes that seem to glow as they reflect the light of the setting sun. He’s an impressively tall and lanky fellow, with a towering top hat of red and white stripes to match. Adjusting his dapper bow tie he sends a happy chortle Sam’s way, and the Who is immediately disarmed, his face lighting up.

“That’s me! Sam I Am. Are you Mr Hat?”

“Why, my reputation precedes me! Splenderific!” This Mr Hat cheers, and Guy arches a brow in bemusement as the cat removes his hat, sweeping it with a deep and flamboyant bow in Sam’s direction, “I am the Cat, the Cat in the Hat!”

“Do you all talk like this?” Guy blurts out before he can stop himself, looking between the two of them. He does his best not to flinch as those gold eyes turn on him, that long tail giving a sharp thrash this way and that.

“If a Master of the Performance Arts didn’t talk like this, my good boy, I’d question their authenticification.” The Cat says sagely, and Guy doesn’t dare argue. But suddenly the taller man blinks hard, canting his head to the side like he’s regarding a particularly hapless mouse.

“My my, another man whose reputation precedes him most greatly! Guy Am I, aspiring inventor, gifted with a flair for pyrotechnics! And as it would seem, great taste in hair-care products” The Cat purrs, and Guy bristles indignantly, his skin growing hot underneath his ruff with embarrassment, “The Grinch has told me all about you~.”

Sam eyes flit from the Cat to Guy with raised brows before squinting up at the latter, folding his arms and cocking his hips to one side, his tone bordering on accusatory, “You told me your name was Grrrrrrumph!”

This is enough to shock Guy out of his embarrassment, blinking down at him incredulously, “ _What-_ ”

“Delightful to see you settling in so well, Sam! Already getting acquainted with your peers, that’s what I like to see!” The Cat interjects, stealing the pair’s attention again as he returns his tophat to his head. He smiles from ear to ear, showing off his gleaming canines, and Sam returns the smile with a matching one, brimming over with enthusiasm.

“Oh yeah, my Backpack Buddy here is going to show me around tomorrow, it’s going to be great! In fact, he was just showing me where my classes will be.”

The most indignant, strangled sound escapes Guy’s mouth before he can stop it, glaring down at Sam’s far too happy face, and he swears his smile gets even wider as he catches Guy’s glare out of the corner of his eye, looking up at him through dense lashes.

The little _shit_.

“Now that sounds positively funderful!” The Cat enthuses, and he moves to tip his hat to the pair, “In that case, I’ll take my leave! I look forward to seeing you in my class, Sam I Am.Your application was most promising indeed~.”

With that the lecturer saunters off, and growling under his breath Guy turns on his heel and heads off in the opposite direction, his shoulders hunched defensively as Sam moves to follow him, glowing with the compliment he received.

“Did you hear that, Guy? This is so exciting! I’m _promising_! I’ve been looking forward to this since _forever_. Mom’s gonna love this! She’s my biggest fan, you know-”

“Oh that’s _fabulous_ ,” Guy swoons sarcastically, before rounding on the smaller man with no small amount of venom, “But _I don’t care_!”

Sam reels back a little, faltering in his step beside him, “Okay, harsh.”

“What, too much of a _**buzz-kill**_ for you?” Guy spits bitterly, his teeth bared in his ire as he jabs a finger at him, “I didn’t agree to show you _**anything**_ tomorrow!”

Sam grimaces, avoiding Guy’s fiery gaze as he brings a finger up to tap his bottom lip, “Oh, right, that. I’m sorry, I’m just…” he looks up at Guy to give him an apologetically hopeful look, a shaky smile on his lips as he balls his hands into fists, “I’m just so excited to finally be here, you know? Following my dreams. Meeting new people like you! And hey, weren’t you excited to be here when you first started?”

Guy deflates, his anger quickly abandoning him and leaving him feeling tired and hollow, like a breeze could easily blow him over. He frowns, turning away from Sam’s imploring face to bury his hands deep in his pockets, falling into pensive silence.

And then his phone vibrates against his palm, and ignoring Sam’s curious glances Guy pulls his phone out his pocket, his expression carefully blank, lashes hanging over melancholy eyes. It’s a text message from his dad, peppered with emojis.

_Hey champ, mom cooking up a storm here- Blue Duck pie for dinner!!! You home soon??? Xxxx_

It’s followed by numerous photos of the state of their kitchen, a purple thumb partially obscuring the corner of the frame. Guy rolls his eyes, his stomach twisting into miserable knots.

“Yeah, whatever. Listen, it’s late-” 

“Okay!” Sam says far too quickly, raising his hands as he flashes Guy his widest smile yet, one that doesn’t quite meet his eyes however, “I should go check out my dorm room anyway, _loads_ of unpacking to do. I’ll see you tomorrow!”

Guy rolls his eyes skyward, lifting his shoulders in a half hearted, non committal shrug, “Yeah whatev-”

But his words cut off in a low cry as Sam is suddenly on him, the small Who throwing himself against him and hiking up the taller man’s body. Summer arms loop around him to pull him into a near bone crushing hug, and Guy barely has a second to throw his arms up to stop their faces from mashing together.

“Ooooh! I _knew_ you’d come around!”

“Get off me!” Guy yelps, and he shoves Sam off him, stumbling back all flailing limbs and bristling fur. Sam bounces away from him, laughing happily as he throws him some jaunty finger guns.

“I’ll meet you right here! How does 9 AM sharp sound to you? Sounds good to me! That’s not too early for you, right?”

But Guy doesn’t say anything, turning on his heel to make his retreat down the tree-lined lane that cuts through the center of campus. Sam sees him off with enthusiastic waves, and Guy’s relieved to find he doesn’t follow him.

Early or not, it’s inconsequential to him. Because he isn’t coming back to campus, and Sam’s just going to have to make do with that.

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The train only takes about an hour to make the journey from Meepville to Stovepipe Junction, but it’s several hours before Guy is standing before his front door, frowning down at his toes as a moment to catch his breath turns into minutes. By now the autumn sun has long since set beyond the mountains that surround the junction, and the frogs and other nighttime critters that call the lakeshore home have come out to sing their evening serenades, chirping away happily.

He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, his jaw tightening as he steels himself. He pushes the door open with a heavy sigh, and the light of the front hall feels too bright, spotlighting him. His shoulders roll upwards against it, and he keeps his gaze fixed to a spot of laminate wooden flooring in front of him as he steps inside, using a foot to close the door behind him.

“There’s our boy!” Comes an enthusiastic cheer from the living room to his left, and Guy flinches against the sound, “How was your day son?”

It takes a monumental effort to turn to face his family, their fanfare only deepening his frown. His parents have taken up their usual spots on the couch, only half watching some historical documentary on TV that his grandfather seems much more engrossed in. But even he tears himself away from the screen to throw him a too-happy smile, eyes gleaming behind his spectacles.

“It was fine.” Guy says flatly, adjusting the straps of his backpack on his shoulders as his mom gets up from her place on the couch, almost tripping over herself in some semblance of enthusiasm.

“Ooh, why don’t you tell us all about it over dinner? I’m sorry we ate without you, but we’ve kept your food warm for you!” She offers, maneuvering past his dad’s legs and the coffee table.

In spite of himself the promise of his mother’s home cooking piques his interest, his spirits daring to lift a little as his stomach gives a rather eager growl. Blue duck’s been his favorite since he was just a pup, especially with the way Karen cooks it.

“We figured you were probably out celebrating with your classmates,” the purple Knox explains with a sweeping motion of his hand towards him, and all the cautious warmth that had blossomed in Guy’s chest dies in an instant, the Knox flinching back as if struck. But his dad continues on regardless, “What did you present today? Your can opener, was it? Oh, that one’s our favorite! A crowd pleaser for sure!”

There is no way that flattery could be genuine, no way his silence and down-trodden demeanor can be interpreted as anything even vaguely positive. After all his shortcoming there is no way he could be anything other than a failure to them, one they evidently had to overcompensate for with an overly saccharine front.

It hurts, terribly so. And it just keeps getting worse.

“Oh yes, that one was very sweet!” His grandfather adds, but Guy throws up a hand abruptly, cutting them off before any more cloying praise can come spewing from their mouths to affront him further.

“Save it,” he snaps, all of him aflame in his ire, “I’m going to bed.”

He moves to head upstairs, but his mother pokes her head around the corner, her face falling, “But sweetie, you haven’t eaten! I made your-”

“I’m not hungry!” Guy barks back, and he tells himself he doesn’t care as she flinches against the acidity in his tone. He turns away from the disappointment painted across her face, taking the stairs two at a time as if he simply can’t get away fast enough.

Slamming his bedroom door closed behind him against the overbearing pressure of their empty praise and thinly veiled pity, he throws his backpack off his shoulders and tosses it haphazardly into a corner, ignoring the way his invention and tools crash and clang in protest inside it. He shrugs out of his jacket, draping it over the back of his roller chair and pulling his phone and earphones out the pockets.

Taking solace in the darkness of his room he flops onto his king bed, dragging himself across the sheets till he can tuck a pillow beneath his head. He knows he should probably shower, but just the thought of leaving his room again is repulsive. Instead he tucks his earphones into his ears and scrolls through his playlist to find the loudest, angriest songs he has.

Rolling onto his back with one arm thrown across his brow he lets eyes trace over the starscape of his ceiling, his legs shifting to indulge in the comforting softness of his sheets on his fur. They’re the same glow-in-the-dark stars his parents had helped him stick up there when he was little, a map of makeshift constellations he’d once named himself but can’t remember since.

Tears leak lazily out of the corners of his eyes, and he drags his arm down to cover them, a burning lump rising up in his throat that he has to swallow back. But the ghosts of those stars glow against his eyelids, and he turns onto his side, willing the music to drown out his thoughts and fears until another night of restless sleep can come to claim him.


End file.
